


Operation 'Charm Mr. "Just-A-Tech"'

by ElectricGhouls



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Elliot takes the job, Fluff, M/M, That's really all it is, i needed something nice and non angsty after the finale, imagine having a clue how to tag fics, maybe not even then, pretty much crack because ill only take things seriously when someones dying, two idiots in love eat lunch together, who can tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricGhouls/pseuds/ElectricGhouls
Summary: Elliot accepts Tyrell's job offer and Tyrell initiates his long-term plan to woo Elliot's socks off in their time together during lunch breaks. Unfortunately, what he forgets to factor in is this: he is a massive, incurable nerd.In which fries are eaten and things are left unsaid, but not unheard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote an unreasonable number of words about elliot and tyrell having lunch and being dorks  
> probably definitely a one-shot? but stranger things have happened. watch this space, i guess

“Elliot,” he croons. Tyrell is aware that with every time he says his name, it sounds less like a greeting and more like a caress.

Elliot seems oblivious thus far. Not sure what to do with that, but it’s fine for now.

Since Elliot accepted the job at E Corp, they’ve gotten lunch together semi-regularly. At the start, Elliot’s eyes would dart around anxiously as if he were searching for the nearest exit in case Tyrell suddenly decided to pull out a gun and shoot him in the gut. Thankfully, after a few dates (what? Elliot doesn’t have to know they’re dates for them to be dates), eyes-darting is at a minimum. Tyrell might even go as far as to say that Elliot is… _comfortable_ around him now.

The thought is an electrifying one, but at the same time, Tyrell wants so much more than comfort. He wants to be close to him. He wants to meet his friends and family. He wants to elope and move to the coast.

But, he’s getting ahead of himself.

“Give me a second,” Elliot murmurs, slipping the strap of his neat black laptop bag onto one shoulder as if it wouldn’t be perfectly safe in his office (yeah, Tyrell gave him his own office. Obviously he gave him his own office). Tyrell wonders about it, but he doesn’t ask. There are lots of things Tyrell wants to ask Elliot but doesn’t: ‘will you marry me?’ for one.

Then Elliot is out past the glass doors of his office and looking at Tyrell expectantly, if slightly confused. Oh god, right, Tyrell’s been staring at him this whole time. He gives out an airy laugh and gestures for Elliot to lead the way in a theatrical little hand wave, then mentally slaps himself three times for being an idiot.

He’s the most embarrassing in front of Elliot. It’s incurable. He has a bulletproof façade that he perfected in the mirror when he was 18 years old, and around Elliot it turns into some cheap plastic thing. He remembers their first meeting, him tripping over himself, his stupid little goodbye wave when Elliot wasn't even _looking_ at him, and his face twists with embarrassment.

“Is everything okay?” Elliot asks, slow and purposeful. He’s looking at him intently, analysing Tyrell’s mortified expression while Tyrell scrambles to act like a _normal fucking human being, get it together, holy shit_.

“Yeah!” Tyrell starts, then stops. “Work, you know. No rest for the wicked,” he squeezes out a smile. Elliot huffs a laugh and stops gazing at him with those doe eyes, thank fucking God. Tyrell would sigh with relief but then he’d attract that attention that makes him feel like he’s being dissected again. And, not that he doesn’t like being cut open from the inside, but right now he’s kind of being a disaster.

They’re walking side by side to without a doubt the cheapest and most repulsive establishment Tyrell has ever willingly eaten at and he’s careful to maintain a reasonable distance from Elliot. No accidental shoulder brushing nonsense allowed. When they first became friends (they’re friends, right? Of course they’re friends. Friends eat together), Tyrell was planning to lay it on thick with the casual definitely-not-flirty hand touches and maybe the odd shoulder squeeze. All that changed, of course, when Elliot jumped away from him like a particularly disgusting insect had swept across his skin when Tyrell tried to shake his hand on his first day.

Tyrell thought it was him. Clearly, Elliot wanted nothing to do with him and only accepted the job for the acute pay rise and amazing dental plan. But, Tyrell watches Elliot the way Elliot watches everyone else, and noticed over time that Elliot avoided physical contact with _everybody_. He has this impenetrable bubble that not even his closest friends seem to be allowed to get through without occasion. He saw it in the way he subtly, subconsciously takes two steps back when a colleague takes one step too near, he saw it in the way he walked two paces behind the scraggly haired girl who met him after he had finished his shift once.

 _Perfect_. No touching? No problem. The important thing was Elliot _didn’t_ find him abhorrent. Operation ‘Charm Mr. ‘Just-A-Tech’’ is _go_.

For all his insistence and pursuing, Tyrell knew that he would back off the instant he truly believed Elliot didn’t want him around even a little bit. But, honestly? Maybe Tyrell is blind, but so far there’s been no indication that Elliot doesn’t at least slightly enjoy his company. He probably doesn’t as much as Tyrell does, but nevertheless…

Yeah, Tyrell is screwed. This is apparent as they enter through the dark door of the Paphos Diner, welcomed by the cheery tinkle of a bell overhead. The walls are a gaudy pink, some kind of allusion to a perky atmosphere that Tyrell absolutely detests. The food is below sub-par and the company who frequent this place are far, far beneath him. Tyrell and Elliot have come here three times this week.

For some unfathomable reason, Elliot seems to be pretty attached to the Paphos Diner. After the first lunch they had together (the one where Tyrell’s choice of lunch venue wasn’t up to Elliot’s standards apparently (does anything about Elliot actually make sense?)), Tyrell took Elliot to increasingly fancy, expensive places. Finally, standing outside a 5* restaurant that Tyrell’s chauffer had escorted them to, Elliot seemed to halt in front of the doors. A few moments of hesitating later- during which Tyrell began worrying with increasing panic that he smelled of B.O or something- Elliot asked:

“Do you wanna get a burger?”

So, yeah. Now they go here all the time. Tyrell has no clue what to make of the change or sudden, drastic turn-around of Elliot’s tastes, but Hell if there’s anything he’ll say no to when it comes to this guy.

Which is why he eats a plate of greasy fries during most lunch breaks like he’ll be one step closer to finding the meaning of life with every meal he finishes. They sit now, in the side booth like they usually do (Elliot gazes out the window often. Tyrell counts his eyelashes. He loses count, he starts again) and wait for their order to be taken. They both get the same thing every time; Elliot a cheeseburger and Tyrell his aforementioned plate of fries. He, of course, later goes and eats some real food, but nobody needs to know that.

The waitress comes over with their food after they’ve ordered. She hands over the plates with a warm smile and tells them buoyantly to call her if they need anything. Tyrell might be better than everybody here, but he’s not an animal so he nods politely and replies that they will.

There’s a few tranquil minutes of quiet chewing (Tyrell has really started to get used to this taste of wet, oily potato) when Elliot speaks first, for once.

“How’s your food?” he asks, eyeing Tyrell like he’s a science experiment that Elliot’s tasked with monitoring.

Tyrell holds his gaze. “Great,” he replies, tossing another chip in his mouth to emphasise his point, “how’s yours?”

Elliot cracks a tiny smile. “Yeah, good.”

“What?” Tyrell doesn’t see Elliot-smiles often, and his stomach is doing somersaults. He feels like a teenager with a crush. Any moment now he’ll break into an embarrassing sweat and start stuttering over his words.

“I think you forget,” Elliot tilts his head a little bit, “that I watch everybody. But I watch you especially.”

Haha, _what_? “I don’t understand.”

Elliot turns away to look out the window, nonchalant. He smiles for real now, amused and gratified so it’s almost smug. Tyrell likes that look on him. “I know you hate it here,” he’s not looking at Tyrell anymore, he’s looking anywhere else as if he knows Tyrell’s eyes are fixated on him (of course he does) and is enjoying the suspense. He takes a deliberate bite of his burger and chews contemplatively while Tyrell waits.

“You’ve gone to some other restaurant after every one of our lunches here,” he says, wiping the corners of his lips with a napkin. “Either you’re perpetually hungry, or…” he trails off, raising one shoulder in a leisurely shrug.

Tyrell splutters. Okay, he definitely didn’t have a smooth and reasonable explanation prepared for this. And, alright, just _how much_ does Elliot watch him? Could it actually be as much as _he_ watches _Elliot_? Because in that case, there could only really be one reason why (right?). “Oh. Okay. Well, that’s only because-”

Elliot squeezes his lips shut, his eyes bright. He’s trying not to laugh at him. Oh god, this is probably one of the most humiliating things to happen to Tyrell. He could offer up any number of bullshit excuses, but there’s no way Elliot would buy any of them. He’s already shown his hand.

“Um,” Tyrell says. He’s taken to glowering at his plate of fries, which now represents his shame in food form. He really, really wants it to disappear. He has nothing else to offer except ‘um’, so he sits there in silence and waits for Elliot to leave wordlessly.

This is what Elliot does instead: after a few moments, he reaches out a hand gingerly and steals a chip from Tyrell’s plate. Tyrell’s eyes snap up and he sees him pop the chip into his mouth, his eyes hopeful and seemingly desperate to communicate a question with their intensity.

This is what it does to Tyrell’s heart: it’s like flicking the wheel of a lighter, and it sparks instead of producing the small flame it’s meant to. Tyrell looks at Elliot and his chest _spark, spark, sparks_.

Elliot leans back, relaxed, evidently having received the answer to his burning question. On his way, he pulls Tyrell’s plate towards him. They finish their lunch in quiet, roles reserved, Tyrell looking out the window and Elliot polishing off his fries. Throughout the rest of the time spent together, when Tyrell smiles self-consciously at Elliot, Elliot offers him a small but genuine smile back.

Tyrell leaves a $50 tip.

**Author's Note:**

> deeply sorry for that finale reference, i know, i'm the worst  
> anyway  
> *points at kudos button and comment section*


End file.
